Yeah, This City Does That To Ya
by Saya-Sama
Summary: Arthur reaaaaally likes Alfred's Boston accent. A lot. USUK


**I should leave this sorta thing to people who are better at it. That being said, I warn you that in accompaniment to Alfred's Boston accent we've also got lots of breath play, car sex, and stereotypes about Massachusetts drivers. Enjoy?**

There's just something about it.

"Ahthur."

Maybe it's the way the first "r" in his name has been completely overlooked?

"Ahthur!"

Or perhaps how the second one is more implied but not completely forgotten?

"Hey Ahthur! Ah you in theah?"

Whatever it is, it's damned sexy.

"What?"

"Uh, ya've kinda been spacin' out on me for a while now," Alfred says, his expression concerned. Arthur, feeling like a child who's been caught red-handed, quickly tries to wave away the issue before the other can guess where his mind has been.

"It's nothing, just admiring the scenery." He tries to sound sarcastic and hopes that even if he doesn't, Alfred will just assume that's what he's being; after all, while the architecture in Boston is interesting, it's not exactly scenic.

"Nevah thought ya considered a buncha brick buildin's scenery." Or he could take it at face value, which didn't really make sense but hey, it's Alfred, and he can say just about anything he wants as long as he says it with _that_ accent.

"Whateva. Ahthur, could ya help me look for a place t' pahk ma cah?"

_'You can feel free to 'pahk ya cah' in _my_ yard any day,'_ Arthur thinks without meaning to. Oh goodness, did he really just think that horrible line? Well, it's a good thing he hadn't said it out—

"E-excuse me?"

-Loud. Oh hell.

"E-excuse what? There's nothing to be excused, nothing at all." Arthur crosses his arms and straightens in the passenger's seat; hopefully if he acts like he didn't say anything, Alfred will just assume he's hearing things…

Despite his efforts to look prim and proper and like he'd never say such a thing, Alfred still grins that shit-eating grin of his. In contrast to how Arthur's posture tenses, Alfred's seems to become looser and more relaxed as he reclines more into his seat. He's thinking something devious, Arthur can tell. He's not exactly dreading it.

"Really? Sounded like a proposition t' me. Hey if that's what ya wanna do then I've got no problem goin' along with your ideaer."

Mm, and he even adds that cursed little letter where it doesn't belong, like he's making up for the ones he missed. It's almost cute.

But no, no, that's not what he's supposed to be thinking of at the moment. He's supposed to help Alfred find a place to pa—"A-ah…"

"That's more like it. Ya pr'nounce ya "ah's" way too cleahly." The statement itself is perfectly innocent, but what Alfred's hand is doing in his lap most certainly is not.

"A-Alfred you dolt, you're driving a bloody ca-a-ah…! Pa-pay attention..." Arthur tries not to let that slow rubbing get to him, but he can't really deny that he isn't doing much to stop him aside from verbally protesting.

Alfred just gives him a sly grin and brings his eyes back to the road, but his hand stays where it is, rubbing Arthur off through his trousers. Arthur tries to keep his breath even and turns his eyes to the road to distract himself-

-Only to find that he really wishes he hadn't because Alfred is driving like a madman.

"Yo-you just crossed ov—ah four lanes now and would you bloody speed up, there's someone tailing you!" Arthur is almost amazed that he'd gotten that sentence out relatively whole, with the way Alfred is rubbing and applying pressure to his groin just so.

"Waddya talkin' 'bout? Theah's a whole three feet between me an' the othah cah!"

"Your dr-drivin—ngg, it's insa-sane! St-stop messin' ah-!round and pay attention to the—to the road…"

Alfred just chuckles at him and rolls his eyes. "Relax Ahthur, 's jus' like drivin' a stick-shift."

"Dear God..." He groans and lets his back arch against the seat some.

"Awesome, a Dunkin Donuts!" Alfred takes a sharp turn off the main road and for a moment Arthur's sure the car is going to tip over. It doesn't, and not five minutes later they're horribly parked in the back lot of a doughnut shop. Horribly parked and now no longer occupied with driving.

It's a bit startling when Alfred pushes his seat down; Arthur is much too focused on his erection to pay attention to what Alfred is doing to his seat. He pushes himself up onto his elbows enough to watch as Alfred removes his hand from his very prominent bulge (_ohGodwhydoyoustop-_) to unbutton his trousers.

"Eager are you?" Arthur has to ask, to make it seem like his head is still in the game some. Alfred just grins and tugs his trousers and underwear down to his knees.

"Ya want me ta be slow 'n sensual for ya? Gotta say this ain't the best place for it," Alfred says, but halts his touching all together for a moment. Even so, Arthur still moans; it's that damn accent! Alfred gives him a devilish grin when he does and leans over enough for his breath to hit the sensitive skin of his neck.

Arthur curses the armrest between them and the small confines of the car, it's so much harder to get close-

"Ya really geddoff on this accent, don't ya?" He nips at the bit of skin he can reach, their position is not very conducive to this, and Arthur moans again, two of his fingers hooking under his own collar to tug it loosen for the other. Alfred's fingers are working the buttons of his shirt out of their holes.

"Think I could getcha off jus' talkin' like this?" He licks at the marks he's made with the utmost care, his smirk pressing into Arthur's skin. "How 'bout I jus' say ya name, ovah and ovah like this? Ya'd love it, wouldn't y' Ahthur?" A shiver goes down his spine and it has little to do with how they're touching.

"Do-don't b-b-be so cocky," Arthur mutters; the words might've gotten lost in the air somewhere. "I-I'm not some ov—ah—some overexcited adolescent… with no control." Though all things considered he might as well be. God, doing this in a car in the back lot of a doughnut shop?

"How 'bout we test it then? My slurrin' against your self-control?" When Arthur next groans it has nothing to do with Alfred's talking and everything to do with his hands leaving him. He's open and exposed now and dammit Alfred isn't taking advantage of that, not enough anyway, he's just breathing near Arthur's ear and _why is he such a tease_?

"Alfred don't you dare leave it at tha—ah…" Alfred nibbles at his ear and it is wonderful but nowhere near enough.

"Gotta say, it doesn't seem like ya gonna last long like this Ahthur," hell he's back to the breathing again, "Though I am enjoyin' da view."

"Shut up and touch me you damned tosser!" Arthur growls out, because he doesn't want to see himself unraveled by mere words. Especially not America's words, damn it.

"Sure ya want me ta keep my yap shut? That seems t' be ya favorite paht." Alfred mutters over his skin, going to all the places he'd normally kiss and nip at, where Arthur _wants_ his lips to touch. But there's no touch, nothing but the feeling of air, hot and all too welcome but not enough. He arches ups, hopes that maybe his skin might brush Alfred's lips for just a minute.

"I bet ya thinkin' you'd like me t' put my mouth t' bettah use," Alfred murmurs, just loud enough for Arthur to hear over his own breathing. Alfred moves slowly down him, his air-kisses trailing lower to where the Brit is dying for the other to make contact already.

"Does heah seem like a nice place t' staht?"

"_GoodGodyes._" It's one breath, three words slurred together into one. It's not enough to get Alfred to lower his head just a little—

"Whoa, whoa, easy theah mistah," Alfred teases as he finally touches Arthur again, but it's not what he wants at all. Alfred's hands pin his hips down, stopping him from just bucking up and into Alfred's mouth. He's going to kill the little shit for this later.

"If ya want any favahs y' should ask nicely." The blonde nation turns his head to the side to look toward Arthur again and he looks like such a little devil, smirking and bowed over his erection as he is. His baby blues flicker back to it for a minute, looking at it like it's something he wants to eat (and dead Lord why_ doesn't_ he already?) before looking back to Arthur again.

"If-if you wanted—hah—" Alfred blows on the head of his cock lightly, damn him, "—me to-to say please, you should-ah, should've just asked!"

"Still waitin' Ahthur. Unless ya'd really just prefer me sayin' y' name 'till ya cum. Wouldn't even mind if ya got it on me this time Ahthur."

Said Brit squirmed and groaned, both from the breath on his cock (and now lower down to the insides of his thighs—_Shit_) and from the way he says his name. But he doesn't want to beg, he hates it (loves it) when Alfred makes him beg! He stares down at Alfred, hopes if he does for long enough Alfred will lose control first and just ravish him like Arthur so desperately wants him to.

"Ahthur," Alfred mutters, moving away from his weeping cock, slowly back up over his torso. Arthur can't bare to watch as Alfred leaves little air impressions of kisses on his skin a second time, murmuring his name into each one. His eyes instead stray to the driver's seat. He realizes one of Alfred's hands has left him and gone to the other man's own lap, taking care of his own needs.

_'Fucking wanker, that's hardly fair!'_ Arthur huffs indignantly and decides if Alfred can jack himself off, he might as well too. When he goes to take matters into his own hands though (quite literally) Alfred uses his free hands to slap his away.

"Bad Ahthur, bad," he admonishes, like he's chastising a pet. Arthur wants to growl at him, but it comes out a pitiful whine. Finally, Alfred makes it back to his neck again, moving over his jaw and to his ear, whispering his name into his ear over and over again until he's whimpering too much to form words.

"Whadd'ya say Ahthur?" Alfred whispers to him, before moving his lips so that they hover just over Arthur's. His hands (both of them, one a bit sweaty, one slick from something entirely different), stopping him from surging up and kissing the other man himself. Biting his lip, trying to keep the plea back for as long as he can while staring into the bits of sky trapped in Alfred's eyes, he reached over to the other's lap, searching and taking hold of what he's looking for almost immediately. Alfred's breath hitches and Arthur feels a bit of satisfaction knowing he caught the other off-guard like that. Arthur moves his hand, just a little, staring intently into Alfred's eyes (half-closed and fighting against the urge to screw shut).

"Please," the word is hardly audible, but it's all Alfred needs and he immediately dives for Arthur's lips, his hand going down to grab Arthur's cock and return the favor. Arthur's hand stutters in its movement for a moment before continuing, his concentration faltering as Alfred attacks his mouth and nether regions simultaneously. He's lost, hopelessly lost in the feeling of that large, callous hand working over him and the feeling of his slurred name being murmured over his lips and skin.

"AhthurAhthurAhthur_dearGod_Ahthur…" In his ear, over his cheeks, lips, jaw, the sensation just as overwhelming as Alfred's hand on his dick and he's precariously balanced on the edge.

Hardly aware of anything other than himself and Alfred's sex in his grip, Arthur curls his fingers around the shaft just a little tighter as he moves his hand. Almost compulsively Alfred does the same with his own, letting his name roll from his lips, a half-choked moan. That's enough, that's all it takes to force Arthur over the edge and he comes, sticky and hot in Alfred's hand. He hardly has the sense to keep his fist curled, never mind moving. Alfred moves his hips to make up for it, fucking Arthur's hand until he finishes, his cum slipping through Arthur's fingers and dripping into the cup holders.

They sit, frozen as they are for a moment before Alfred turns and falls back into his seat again, quickly righting his pants when he remembers where they are. Arthur just wants to curl up and sleep but he knows he can't, not when he's nearly naked, his stomach covered in his own seed.

"Sh-shit Ahthur… If I'd known Boston makes ya so horny, I'd take ya heah more often," Alfred says, sounding a little short of breath but coherent after a few minutes of rest. Arthur scoffs, but his face is bright red.

"Just, just shut up and drive," he commands instead of responding to Alfred's comment. The American grins at him deviously, and suddenly Arthur wishes he hadn't just said that.

"Yessir," Alfred says enthusiastically, and with a few turns of the steering wheel he turns back onto the busy street, taking off far too fast and carelessly for Arthur's liking. Still reeling from his orgasm and now pumped with adrenaline for the fear of losing his life, Arthur reaches out and clutches at whatever his hand falls on. It's Alfred's thigh.

"Haha, round two can wait 'til we get home, 'kay Ahthur?" He laughs, and Arthur wonders how he can be so sure that they'll even get there. Damned Massachusetts drivers.

**Pop quiz! How many Massachusetts stereotypes can you find? **


End file.
